


Leave the Lights On (Keep Talking)

by QuietLittleVoices



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, F/M, Ghost Castiel, Ghosts, Growing Up Together, Hurt/No Comfort, Infidelity, M/M, Unhealthy Relationship(s), breaking up, past major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-02-21 02:35:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 14,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2451518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietLittleVoices/pseuds/QuietLittleVoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean grew up next door to his very best friend, Castiel. But sometimes the things that should work out just don’t, and sometimes the people involved make mistakes that they can’t come back from. Except now, ten years after leaving, Dean has to come back to the town where he grew up. His childhood memories are now shadowed by guilt and pain with the constant reminder of his actions, especially now that he’s moved back to the town he grew up in. And as if the judgemental stares aren’t punishment enough, his biggest mistake of all returns to haunt him until he repents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Halloween, 1984

“Who you gonna call?!” Dean shouted in a sing-song voice, standing up on his unstable legs.

Cas giggled from where he sat. “Ghostbusters!” he replied.

Dean reached for his friend and helped him stand up, nearly toppling them both in the process. Mary watched the boys from the doorway, hiding a laugh behind her hand.

“C’mon,” the older boy said. “You be the ghost,” Dean pointed at Cas with a chubby finger, “and I’ll be the buster. Okay?” He pointed to himself and looked at Cas with big eyes.

Cas nodded enthusiastically. “Okay,” he agreed.

They chased each other around the living room, laughing and giggling, until Mary had to step in after they almost smashed her vase.

“I think that’s enough for now,” she announced. The boys let out simultaneous groans as she took them by the hand and lead them into the kitchen. “It’s time for lunch. I made pumpkin pie!” That made the boys cheer. She helped them reach the sink so they could wash their hands and then sat them down at the table. One-year-old Sam was strapped into his high chair, gurgling happily and banging his spoon around.

Mary gave the older boys a half-sandwich each before putting banana slices in front of Sam.

“Do you have a costume for Halloween, Cas?” she asked as she sat down with them.

He shook his head. “No. Mommy says Halloween isn’t good.”

Dean gasped dramatically at his friend’s response. “That’s dumb,” he announced. Mary tried to admonish him but he didn’t pay attention. “C’mon, Cas,” he continued, jumping off his chair and reaching out for Castiel’s hand. “Let’s go get you a costume!”

Castiel took Dean’s offered hand and Dean led them out of the kitchen. Mary sighed at her eldest son’s antics and put her head in her hands. Sam giggled and ate another banana slice.

***

It wasn’t long before Dean and Cas were running back into the kitchen, Dean in his pirate costume and Cas with a sheet over his head. There were no holes cut out for his eyes so he was left reaching out from under the sheet and holding on to Dean’s shirt.

Mary clucked her tongue at them in amusement when they each held out a small plastic bucked shaped like a pumpkin.

“Trick-or-treat!” they said together, Dean grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh! How scary,” she said. “But that ghost doesn’t have any way to see!” She grabbed a pair of scissors lead them to the linen closet where she got out an old and horrifically ugly pillow case. After taking off Cas’ sheet, she gave them both a serious look she said, “Never, ever do this without my permission, alright?”

They nodded solemnly and she almost laughed at the looks of gravity on their chubby faces. She cut out two small holes for eyes and slit a little more than half way up the seams to give him room for his arms. “There you are. A proper ghost now.”

 


	2. Summer 2014

Dean looks over the picnic table at Anna Milton, who’s giving him a brightly false smile.

“I found some houses that fit your criteria!” she tells him, handing over a folder full of photographs. “That one has a nice, big on-suite and is in a good family neighbourhood – for your son. The next one – there, yes, that one – is a little more pricey but it’s in a very well recommended neighbourhood, and it has three bedrooms and one and a half bathrooms.”

He flips to the third picture, which isn’t as nice as the other two. It’s an old house, with ivy growing up the visible side. If it was a little older and a little more run-down he’d almost say it looked like it was the set of a horror movie. “What about this one?”

Anna shifts in her seat, uncomfortable. “It’s… well, it’s in your price range. And it’s got two bedrooms and two full bathrooms, one of them on-suite and connecting the bedrooms. It’s in one of the better neighbourhoods, too, especially for families.”

“That sounds perfect!” Dean exclaims. “Why’s it so cheap?”

“Well,” she starts, looking down at her hands, “a few years ago, the owner of the house at the time had an accident and died. Not in the house – it was actually across town – but the four families that have tried to live in the house since then all report strange noises and happenings.” She laughs, clearly wishing she was absolutely anywhere else. “Obviously it’s just in their imagination – you know how people are. It’s an old house; it settles at night.”

Dean laughs. “Yeah, people can be really freaked out by that kind of thing. I think it looks great, though; can we go check it out.”

Her false smile snaps itself firmly back into place. “Of course! We can go right now if you want. I’ll lead you in my car.”

***

Dean parks his Impala on the curb and gets out, looking up at the house in front of him. It looks like a giant face staring back at him. He laughs at himself, seeing how easily the other people were scared. As he tries to calm himself, he notices something up near the roof.

“Is the attic renovated?” he asks, pointing to the small, square window.

Anna nods. “The man who lived here a few years ago renovated it; it’s completely livable. Very cozy, too, if I do say so myself.” She sighs before she continues on speaking, as if she knows that her words were a potential deal-breaker. “The other owners say that the attic is the centre of the odd activity, though.”

Dean shrugs. “People think attics are creepy. Can we go in?”

“Of course.” She fumbles in her bag and pulls out a single key with a red piece of tape on the end. The lock opens with a loud click that Dean could almost hear echoing inside the empty halls of the house. He might have imagined it, but he would swear that the door creaked as it swung open.

The first room they entered was something that Dean could easily picture as the living room, with beautiful hardwood and a bay window looking out into the front lawn. Then there was the kitchen, and lastly the dining room.

Anna finally led him upstairs to see the bedrooms and bathrooms. She shows him where the attic door is, a small square in the ceiling. “Can you tug on the rope, please?” she asks. “I would but I can’t reach.”

He obliges and pulls on it, covering his face as a cascade of dust pours down on them followed by a ladder.

“I’ll go up first,” he says with a laugh. “Make sure there’s no ghosts.”

Anna sighs but lets him climb up. The attic is dark when he pokes his head in, but there’s enough light streaming in from the windows in the roof and walls that he could see well enough.

“It’s nice,” he calls back down to Anna. “Is there a basement in this house, too?”

She shakes her head. “Not really. It’s unfinished.”

Dean nods. “Alright. This is still really great. I think I’m sold – I’ll take it.”

“Really?” she asks incredulously. “I mean – okay. Come down so we can start getting things sorted out.”

He climbs back down the ladder and shoves it back up, closing the door after it. “Sounds great.”

***

_October First, 2014_

It’s his first day totally moved in to the new house. All his things are inside, as well as the antique furniture he’d bought at the thrift shop over the last few months. Finally, he has a home base of sorts. With everything set up, he feels secure enough to call old friends and tell them that he’s come back to town to stay.

Most of the people he knew in high school and college weren’t speaking to him anymore, and he agrees that they had reason. There was only one person that he was fairly sure wouldn’t punch him in the face the moment that they saw each other, and that was Benny.

The phone was picked up on the first ring when he calls.

“What’s wrong?” the man asks immediately.

Dean laughs awkwardly. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says. “I just – well, I’ve moved back. Thought we could catch up.”

“Alright,” Benny responds incredulously. “What do you say we meet up for drinks tonight at the Roadhouse?”

Dean shakes his head even though Benny can’t see. “No – Jo, Ellen, and Ash will all beat me up. Rightfully.”

“Yeah, probably,” he agrees thoughtfully. “There’s a new bar on Saint Christopher’s, you can meet me there.”

“Alright; that’s not far from my new house. I’ll see you there.”

“See you there, brother.”

***

Dean stands at the bar awkwardly, trying to keep his head down on the off chance that someone he’d known while he was growing up would be there. He isn’t in the mood to be punched in the face, no matter how much he deserved it ten years ago – still deserves it, probably.

He’s startled from his thoughts by a large hand clapping him on the shoulder.

“Good to see you again, brother,” Benny says with a grin. He motions for the bartender to bring him a beer.

Dean nods. “Yeah – you, too.” He sips his beer. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been good. Andrea and I got married a few years ago. What have you been up to?” Benny thanks the bartender as the young man sets a glass in front of him.

This was the part Dean had been dreading – explain himself, why he’d come back – but he knows that he owes Benny an explanation, if no one else. “Lisa and I are separated. I’m filing for a divorce.”

Benny looks at him sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Dean shrugs. “We’re splitting custody of Ben – that’s my kid, you’ll love him – but she’s getting this whole month to herself so I can settle in to my new house.” He sighs and takes a big sip of his drink. “It’s surreal being back here,” he says with a laugh. “I don’t even know why I came back – familiarity, I guess?”

“You know, eventually you’ll have to see everyone again,” Benny reminds him. “You can’t avoid the past forever.”

“I was trying to. Doin’ a pretty good job of it, too, if I do say so myself.”

Benny nods. “Yeah, you were,” he agrees solemnly.

Dean’s not sure how to reply to that, so he opts to keep drinking his beer instead of saying anything. The awkwardness quickly passed, though, and they were back to talking like the old friends that they were.

Eventually, it becomes time for Dean to ask the only question he really cares to know the answer to. “How, uh – how’s Cas?” He tries and fails to be casual, looking anywhere but at Benny as he speaks for fear of losing his nerve.

When Benny doesn’t answer, he glances over to see the larger man looking at him with wide eyes. “You don’t know, do you?” Benny asks. “No one told you? Not even Sam?”

Dean furrowed his brow, confusion and concern colouring his features. “Tell me what? What happened, Benny? Tell me.”

“Cas, he, uh… he died, Dean.”

Shock washes over him and he feels like he’s trapped in place. “What?” he manages to choke out. “Are you – you’re serious. Oh my God. Holy fuck. You’re serious.” Dean moves his hands to grip the edge of the counter, his knuckles turning white. “He’s dead. And I – I never apologized. I never even got to say goodbye. Fuck.”

“I think we should get you home, brother.” Benny murmurs, signalling the bartender to come over so they can pay and putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you had to find out now.”

But Dean isn’t listening. He can only hear the blood pumping through his veins, a loud thud, thud drowning out the sounds of the bar. Cas is dead. Has been dead for years. He regrets what he did now more than ever, and regrets even more all the years since Cas has died where he smiled and laughed with Ben and Lisa and never once – not once – thought about what Cas was doing.

Benny leads him out of the bar and stands him next to the Impala. “Can you drive on your own?”

Dean nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He laughs awkwardly. “Just a shock. I’ll be fine,” he repeats, though whether it’s to convince Benny or himself, he isn’t sure. Either way, Benny leaves him with a worried look.

“Call me in the morning, alright?”

“Alright.”

When he gets back to the house he could swear that he felt something – like he was being watched. Like he wasn’t alone.

 


	3. Halloween, 1991

“What are you even supposed to be?” Dean asked, eyeing his friend up at down.

Cas gave him a disgruntled look. “I’m a vampire doctor. _Obviously_.”

Dean pursed his lips and crossed his arms, really trying to examine Cas’ costume. “I don’t see it. What’s ‘vampire’ about it?”

“Vampires look like normal people,” Castiel informed him knowingly. “That’s what makes them scary.”

“Even _ghosts_ are scarier than _vampires_.”

Castiel glared at him. “Well, you’re a cowboy! How are you supposed to be scary?”

“Maybe I’m a vampire cowboy,” Dean said mockingly, adopting Cas’ haughty tone.

“That’s not funny,” he muttered, crossing his arms petulantly.

“It’s really funny.”

Cas shook his head. “S’not.”

Dean looked at his friend helplessly, realizing that he might have actually hurt the other boy. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, reaching out to put a hand on Cas’ shoulder. Castiel shook him off, so he handed him a pillow case. “C’mon, let’s go trick-or-treating, okay? We’ll get lots of candy and everyone will love your vampire doctor costume!”

Castiel perked up at that, taking the pillow case from his friend. “Okay. Let’s go.”

***

Mary took them out for an hour and a half before it became too dark and cold to stay outside. They sat in the living room after that trading candies, since Dean liked candy corn, but Cas didn’t, and Cas liked licorice, but Dean didn’t.

After that, they changed into their pyjamas and got into Dean’s twin bed. Mary gave them both kisses on their foreheads and turned off the light as she left.

“Dean?” Castiel whispered after a few minutes. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah, why?”

Cas didn’t answer for a while and Dean thought that he’d fallen back asleep until he said, “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“The dark. Well, not the dark; that doesn’t make sense, the dark itself can’t do anything to you,” he rambled, “but, you know. The things in the dark. Monsters and ghosts and vampires and zombies.”

Dean reached down the side of his bed and pulled out his Batman flashlight. He clicked it on and shined it around the room, lighting up all the corners. “There’s nothing here to be scared of, Cas,” he said.

“I know,” Cas replied, almost defensively. “But it’s still scary. There could be a monster in your closet watching us right now. You wouldn’t know – we can’t see your closet from here.”

Dean started to get up and crawl out of bed, intending to open the closet to reassure Cas that nothing was there, but the boy grabbed onto his pyjamas and kept him in the bed. He turned to look at Cas inquisitively. “I was gonna check for you.”

Cas nodded. “I know. But it’s safer to stay here under the covers. They can’t get you under the covers.”

Dean considered that and couldn’t find a flaw in the logic, so he settled back into bed and pulled the blanket over both their heads. “I’ll keep you safe here, then,” he said decisively. “Protect you from the monsters.”

Now lying on their sides and turned towards each other, they started to drift off to sleep.

“Thank you,” Cas whispered.

Dean didn’t even open his eyes when he replied, “I’ll always keep you safe.”

Neither of them doubted it.


	4. October Second, 2014

Dean wakes up to the smell of a burning breakfast; bacon, pancakes, eggs, the works. He smiles for a moment, suddenly brought back to the years he spent sharing an apartment with Cas, who would try and make breakfast on special occasions. Only, Cas couldn’t cook. At least, not back in college. Dean had no idea if he’d ever learnt.

The smile fell off his face and he slowly dragged one of his hands across his face. “Idiot,” he mutters to himself, swinging out of bed and putting his slippers on.

Out of some stroke of brilliance, he’d decided to set up his bedroom in the attic. Supposedly the most haunted room of the house, according to the stories of the previous owners. But times like this, early mornings when even the sun was barely awake, he could almost believe it. He could feel the ghosts of his own past coming up around him, pulling the air from around him and leaving him gasping.

Most days, he tried to forget that he had a past, but that was when he lived half way across the country. Now it was harder. Even the trees seemed familiar, though he knows that logically most of the trees that had been there in his childhood had been chopped down, and that these were all new trees.

After convincing himself that he’s alone, he gets out of bed and climbs out of the attic. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to be longer than usual, but as he descends into the main house he just shakes his head at himself. Living alone was really getting to him.

The house no longer smells like burning, and he chalks it up to having been a figment of his imagination. It was understandable, he reasons in his own head, having been surprised by the news about Castiel the night before, to dream about something related to him.

Dean stands at his kitchen counter and grips the edges harder than intended, leaning on it heavily. He lets out a sigh and hangs his head. He’d never been one for praying, even back when he knew Castiel and his religious family, but he figures the least he can do is send up a good thought for the man’s soul, even if they hadn’t ended on a good note. If anyone deserved to find a happy afterlife, it was his old friend.

“I’m so sorry, Cas,” he murmurs aloud, hoping that the physical repetition of his words would make them real, would make them _mean_ something. And even though the apology was truthful, he’d lost his chance to say it when he’d walked away. Hell, if he was being honest, which was a rare occurrence as of late, he’d lost that chance months before.

There was a noise behind him, a whispered breath, and he whips around to see what was happening but there was nothing, no one, there.

He sags again, this time with his back to the counter, and laughs at himself. “Get your shit together, Winchester,” he tells himself.

Then the noise comes again. And he swore that it was _his_ name being whispered that he was hearing. But that was impossible – he was alone. Completely, utterly alone.

“ _Dean_.”

The voice is inside the kitchen, of that he’s sure, if there even _is_ one. But he can’t see them if they’re there.

He looks at the box of cereal he’d gotten out and put on the counter and decides to say ‘fuck it’ and leaves the house for the morning, nearly running upstairs to get his jeans and a jacket before going outside again to find breakfast at a local diner.

Deciding that he still doesn’t want to go back to the house, he goes to get groceries and other things he needs, trying to laugh at himself the whole time. Why buy a house you’re scared to set foot in?

That was the thought that spurred him into going back and going inside. He refused to be scared by his own house like some made-for-TV kids Halloween movie.

“There is no one but me living in this house,” he says loudly, standing in the middle of the living room and feeling like an idiot. It feels like a lie, but he tries to ignore that. He pushes the feeling down and goes to put away his groceries.

The box of cereal is no longer on the counter, though he doesn’t remember putting it away before he’d left. He must have, obviously, because, as he’d established, he was alone in the house. There was no one else there to move a box of cereal.

“I need to get out more,” he says out loud, further reaffirming this thought. The problem being that no one wanted to see him, at least not anyone who lived in town.

After putting away groceries, he picks up the phone and dials a familiar number. It goes straight to voicemail and he curses himself.

“Hey, bud,” he says awkwardly. “It’s dad. I just wanted to know how you and your mom are doing. You’ll love the house I bought; I can’t wait to show you your room here. It’s all set up with the stuff you chose.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Anyway, call me back when you get the chance, okay? Miss you.”

He hangs up and goes to sit on his sagging couch, dropping his head into his hands as he did and letting out a frustrated noise. Everything had seemed to fall apart so quickly, though now he could see all the building blocks of the breakdown clearly. His split with Lisa had been fated from the start, he wasn’t surprised about that, but he keeps coming back to _Cas_ in his mind – Castiel, his childhood sweetheart. The man he’d loved, for years even after the break up – though he’d never tell that to Lisa, even now. He’d been awful, he knew, he’d messed up, and he didn’t deserve forgiveness.

He knew all that, knew how he’d fucked up and been the agent of his own demise twice over, and still he wanted to cry. He wanted to feel sorry for himself, but he can’t. Because he knew better than anyone that he shouldn’t be the one that people felt sorry for. He didn’t deserve anything, not anymore.

The sun is starting its afternoon decent when he finally stands up and goes back to the phone. Maybe he can try again, maybe this time he’ll get through. He doesn’t have much hope for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about being slow to update this - I'm also working on Eyes Like Flashlights, and I'm trying to always post a flashback and a present day chapter at once for this one, because I know that posting a flashback with nothing else may end up getting boring.   
> In other news, I posted my DCBB, The Temporary Ambition of Generous Messiahs, today! You should all check it out and tell me what you think :)


	5. Halloween, 1995

“What do you wanna watch?” Dean asked, crouching in front of the movie drawer in his living room.

Cas shrugged. “Whichever is your favourite.” He didn’t really believe that he had an opinion, because his parents didn’t like Halloween, so he’d only ever seen the movies that Dean liked, anyway.

Dean glanced at the ones in the drawer before plucking one out seemingly at random. He put it in the player and then went to flop on the couch, throwing his feet into Cas’ lap.

He gave Dean a displeased look but didn’t do anything to throw him off. “What did you pick?” he asked.

“You’ll see,” Dean replied with a grin, pulling the bowl of popcorn off the coffee table and dropping it onto his stomach.

Cas reached over and grabbed a handful as the movie started to play, popping the kernels into his mouth slowly, one at a time. Next to him, Dean was shovelling the popcorn into his mouth seemingly by the handful.

“If you keep up like that, we won’t have any left by the middle,” Cas chastised.

Dean shushed him, so he shrugged and turned back to the screen.

As predicted, they ran out of popcorn thirty minutes in and Dean refused to go out to the kitchen to make more, so they just put the bowl on the coffee table and continued to watch the movie. At some point, Dean shifted so that his head was resting on Cas’ shoulder.

When the movie ended, neither of them wanted to move from their comfortable place on the couch right away. But when even the credits were over, it became unavoidable.

With a loud yawn, Dean stretched himself up, extending his arms above his head and arching his back. Cas tried and failed not to stare at the thin strip of skin showing at his friends hip.

“So what did we just watch?” Cas asked, pulling his eyes up to Dean’s face.

“Its new this year,” Dean told him. “Called Casper. Sammy loves it, can’t see why.”

Cas shrugged. “I thought it was touching.”

“Yeah, you would,” he replied softly. Louder, Dean added, “You know, you kinda remind me of Casper.”

“How so?” Cas asked, tilting his head inquisitively.

Dean shrugged. “I dunno, just, the friendly stuff, you know? You’re so nice to everyone all the time, Cas. You don’t deserve the shit you get sometimes, honestly.” He shook his head and tried to laugh. “And, you know, the whole ‘trying to understand humans’ thing,” he teased.

Cas rolled his eyes and reached over to swat at Dean playfully. “Shut up,” he muttered.

Dean stuck out his tongue childishly, then darted away from Cas’ outreaching hand with a laugh.


	6. October Seventh, 2014

When Dean wakes up, it’s cold. Frost covers the single window and Dean can feel the chill seep into his bones. Pulling the blanket around his shoulders doesn’t help, so he decides to get out of bed and get dressed in warm clothes. Donning wool socks and a big sweater, he goes downstairs to turn up the thermostat. He flips open the cover and finds that it’s already at 72F.

With a shrug, he figures that it was just a cold night, and he goes to the kitchen to consider breakfast. It’s too cold for cereal, so he chooses toast, lathering it in peanut butter and jam before shovelling it into his mouth.

He shivers when he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up with the strange sensation of being watched. Except, he knows he’s alone. He’s alone.

No matter how many times he repeats the phrase to himself, it doesn’t stick.

_I’m alone_.

Angrily, he brushes a hand across the back of his neck as if he could brush off the feeling. It almost works, until he hears the voice again. Soft and breathy, like a whisper recorded on an old tape.

“ _Dean_ ,” it says in his ear. He jumps, abandoning his breakfast and leaving the kitchen.

“I am alone,” he says out loud, standing in the living room and looking into the kitchen. He doesn’t believe himself.

With a sigh, he puts on his jacket and boots and walks out the front door, locking the door behind himself.

***

The first place he goes is the cemetery. Walking through the old iron gates is like entering another world or another life entirely.

Save for a few more headstones, it’s exactly how Dean remembers it. From the benches to the dying trees, the old dirt path to the hole in the fence that backs onto the high school’s running track. He remembers the year he tried out for the track team because Cas wanted to, and he could barely run past that spot knowing his mother was just on the other side of the ivy-covered fence.

Cas made the team that year, went on to win a medal. Dean couldn’t remember now what track meet he’d won the medal for, or what place he’d gotten. He tried not to feel too bad about that, and wondered vaguely if Cas had kept the medal for very long, and where it had ended up. Dean was fairly certain that the Salvation Army wasn’t looking for high school track medals.

Shaking himself from his daydreams, Dean continued down the path with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his old leather jacket. He remembered visiting this place on every holiday, and sometimes between if he really needed solace. The plot next to his mother’s grave was no longer empty. His father had died five years previously and been buried next to her. Dean had flown into town alone to attend the funeral, hadn’t talked to anyone he used to know, and had left the next morning.

That didn’t mean he hadn’t seen people. Walking down the street between his hotel and the church where the funeral was being held, he’d passed Cas. He’d almost stopped to talk, but couldn’t bear it. Now, knowing that Cas had died two years later, he wished that he’d stopped. Maybe if he had then Cas would still be alive.

_What difference would it have made?_ Dean berated himself. _You still would have left again_.

He ran a hand through his hair out of frustration and stared down at the headstones in front of him. Now that he was here, he didn’t have anything to say. Couldn’t think of anything. He shifted his gaze to focus on his mother’s headstone, blocking out his father’s. “Hey, mom,” he murmured. “Miss you.”

He stood there in the cold for a few more awkward moments before turning swiftly and walking out of the cemetery.

***

The grocery store was a stark contrast to his mood, with its florescent lighting and white washed walls. He pushed a vibrantly yellow cart around, clutching his list in one hand. He’d written it on the back of an ad for a neighbourhood wide movie night at the local drive in where they’d be playing a marathon of all the Ghostbuster movies. Dean was almost tempted until he remembered that there would probably be people there that he wouldn’t want to see again.

He told himself that he wasn’t bothered by it as he made his way up and down the aisles of the grocery store, shoving different food products into his cart. He was only shopping for himself, right now, so he didn’t need much, but he _did_ need more than the current contents of his fridge and cupboards, which was three different kinds of cereal, two cans of Spaghetti-Os, and a carton of milk.

Dean went through the self-check out to avoid as much social interaction as he possibly could while he was still flying under the radar. He wondered if Cas’ family had gotten word of him coming back and hoped not. If they had, he figured, they would have tried to contact him by now. And _that_ was a conversation that he very much so wanted to put off for as long as possible – forever, if he could get away with that.

The cart jumped and skipped over the pavement in the parking lot of the store and Dean struggled to keep it under control as he steered it in the general direction of his parked car. After what felt like an eternity, he reached the vehicle and popped the trunk to heave the bags in before locking it up again and dragging the cart to the pen where he was supposed to, but he drew the line at actually slotting it into place.

He sat in his car for a minute after that waiting for it to warm up, holding his frigid hands over the heater and trying to remember if he owned gloves. A glance at the clock told him it was noon, so he drove to a fast food restaurant and went through the drive-thru, then parked in their lot to eat his burger and fries.

Finally, it was unavoidable; he had to go back home. He spent the whole drive convincing himself that he’d been sleep deprived and was hearing things, but he couldn’t convince himself that that was true.

He pushed his front door open with his hip, heaving in the bags with him before shutting it with his foot.

“I ain’t afraid of no ghosts,” he muttered to himself as he walked through the living room to the kitchen to deposit his bags on the counter. He got them steady and started unpacking, turning his back to the main area of the kitchen. When he turned back, the cupboard where he kept bowls and plates was hanging open. He went and shut it with a frown, opening instead the cupboard with the Spaghetti-Os and putting boxes in there.

As he shut that cupboard again, he heard a crash, and turned to see one of his bags turned over, the contents spilling out onto the floor. He sighed and went to pick everything up, bending over with his head under the lip of the counter.

“Can you _please_ stop and pay attention?”

Dean bolted up so fast he hit his head on the counter, then slowly rose all the way rubbing the back of his head. The voice had been so loud and familiar, he could have sworn…

He turned slowly and saw the all too familiar man standing in front of him, looking exasperated.

“Cas?” he gasped, feeling like all the breath had gone out of his lungs.

“Dean,” Cas muttered, crossing his arms almost petulantly.

If Dean looked close enough, he could see the cupboards through Cas’ white shirt. “You’re – but Benny said – you died! You’re dead.” He ran his hands through his hair. “Which means I’ve lost it,” he laughed nervously. “Awesome. Perfect. Just what I needed right now.”

“Dean, you’re not crazy,” the man – ghost – _apparition_ said, looking like he was already tired of their conversation. “I’m dead. That’s true. But you’re not crazy; I’m really here.”

“That’s exactly what a figment of my imagination would say,” Dean countered.          

“What can I do to convince you that I’m real?”

Dean shrugged. “Probably nothing.”

“Well, why would you be seeing _me_ of all people as an apparition?” he asked.

“Because I was thinking about you earlier.” He figured it was safe to admit these kinds of things to someone who wasn’t real. “And because I fucked up big time with you.”

Cas threw up his hands in exasperation and his form seemed to go fuzzy around the edges. “Finally, he admits it. Only took you ten years, Dean. Good on you.”

Dean glared at the ghost – _apparition_ , he corrected himself again. “Hey! I’ve known since that night that what I did was wrong, okay? If I’d admitted I was wrong then, would it have changed things?”

“Probably not.”

They stood in silence for a moment, just watching each other. It was almost as if they were sizing each other up before a fight.

“If you’re real,” Dean said slowly, “which I’m not convince of yet, why would you still be here? Ghosts only come back with a reason, right?”

Cas shrugged. “I’ve been stuck here for the last three years and I don’t know yet. But you’re the first person I’ve been able to show myself to.”

“So all the people who lived here before me, you drove them out?”

“I hated having them in my house.”

Dean nodded as if that made sense to him. He turned away from Cas and looked at his half empty grocery bags. “So am I supposed to help you figure out why you’re still here?” He picked up a jar and turned back to face Cas, only to find himself alone.

Resisting the urge to smash the jar of jam that he held, he went about restarting the task of putting things away.

The fridge door swung open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Profoundly sorry about how long it's been since I've updated!!
> 
> It's just that not a lot of people have shown interest in this story, and even though it's my favourite thing that I've got going on right now, I've had little motivation to write it because it seems like no one's reading it.  
> I will, however, continue to write and post this, because as I said it is my favourite 'current project'.


	7. Halloween, 1997

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long week!! I finished the other story I was working on so hopefully these will come quicker now :)

Cas collapsed on the couch as soon as he walked into dorm he shared with Dean. He’d been volunteering at a haunted house as Ghost Number Four, in the mirror room, and he’d received countless bruises along his body from startled haunted house-goers.

“What’s got you down, bud?” he heard Dean ask from somewhere above him.

He groaned and shoved his face into a pillow.

Dean walked over and moved Cas’ feet, sitting down under them and then putting them securely in his lap. “Wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head.

Cas started when Dean started kneading at his feet. It felt nice at first, but then Dean’s fingers started trailing across his arches and he couldn’t help but wriggle his toes uncomfortably. Dean stopped, moving his hands away. “Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“No,” Cas said too quickly. “Just… ticklish,” he admitted, though it wasn’t much of an admission – Dean had always known he was ticklish.

“Sorry.”

They sat in silence for a moment before Dean put his hands back on Cas, this time his calves. He moved slowly, carefully. Cas felt himself melt into the couch as Dean moved so that he could knead farther up Cas’ legs.

Cas made a small noise of pleasure in the back of his throat as Dean worked out the tension in his muscles.

“Like that, do you?” Dean asked, and Castiel could hear the smirk in his friends’ voice.

He debated throwing a pillow at Dean, but the only one in his reach was underneath his head and was much too comfortable to forfeit. Instead, he hummed appreciatively, letting his eyes close as he relaxed into the old cushions.

Castiel was so relaxed that he didn’t notice when Dean stopped moving his hands. All he noticed was that suddenly – _finally_ , his mind provided later – he felt the cool brush of lips against his. He opened his eyes slowly, as if in doing so he’d wake up and find that the feeling had been a dream. Dean pulled away at the same moment but didn’t go far, just putting a few inches between them so that he could gauge Cas’ reaction.

“So,” Dean said with a nervous laugh, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

Cas felt himself smile. “Me, too.”

Dean glanced down, cheeks reddening. “I’m gonna kiss you again, if that’s alright.”

“Please do.”

So he did.

***

When Cas woke up the next morning, he was alone. It was like every other morning, except that he was in Dean’s bed.

He let himself languish in the warm morning light for a few moments before shuffling out of bed, pulling on his boxers and Dean’s robe before padding into the kitchen where he could hear the sounds of Dean singing and bacon sizzling.

Dean didn’t notice as he entered, so he slid up behind the boy and pressed his lips against Dean’s neck. “Morning,” he murmured as Dean froze for a moment before melting into Cas’ embrace.

“You’re like a ghost,” Dean said with a laugh. “I’m not gonna have to make you wear a bell, am I?”

Cas chuckled. “I’ll try and make more noise next time.”

Dean theatrically put his free hand against his heart. “Please do. You’re gonna kill me if you keep sneakin’ up on me like that.”

 “You’re being overdramatic, Dean,” he murmured, pressing another kiss into Dean’s neck, causing him to make an indistinct noise of pleasure.

“If you want breakfast you have to stop _that_ , too,” Dean warned, though he didn’t move out of Castiel’s arms. If anything, he slid deeper into them while still keeping the ability to make bacon and pancakes.

Despite his words, when Castiel tried to remove himself from Dean’s side, Dean tried his best to keep him in place.

“Just not with the kissing,” he elaborated. “I spent too long standing away from you; I’m gonna savour this for as long as you let me have it.”

Cas buried his face against Dean’s neck. “You can have forever, if you want it.”

“I’ll mess something up.”

Cas shook his head. “You couldn’t. But if you do, we’ll work on it. Together.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Well, you’re the one that I want. And I’m not going anywhere, so…”

Dean turned his head to press a kiss into Cas’ hair. “I’m gonna make myself deserve you, okay? That’s my goal.”

“I don’t want you to change, Dean; I want you as you are,” Cas reassured him.

“Still. I’m gonna be better, one day. I promise.”

Cas smiled and hooked his chin over Dean’s shoulder. “I love you.”

Dean felt a sappy grin form on his face. “I love you, too.”


	8. October Thirteenth, 2014

Dean chalked the entire experience up to a stress-induced hallucination. Nearly a week had passed and he hadn’t seen another sign of a ‘ghost’.

He reasoned with himself that that was a good thing – seeing a ‘ghost’ once couldn’t mean anything too bad, right? If it never came back, then what was the harm? – but something in him missed the occurrences. The logical explanation, he knew, was that he _missed_ Cas. Missed his old friend and first love; it was reasonable and it made sense.

What didn’t make sense to him was why this was only happening _now_. When everything had happened and he’d left, he hadn’t seen or heard Cas anywhere. If he was being honest with himself, that was what made it harder. Cas had been his best friend for his whole life, and then suddenly nothing – no contact, no pictures, complete isolation. It was as if Cas just suddenly didn’t exist in Dean’s world, which was the way Cas had wanted it and Dean could respect that, even though it was hard. He knew that he deserved it, and Cas was worthy of anything that Dean could give him.

Maybe it was a combination of things – what had happened in the past with Cas, what had happened with Lisa, and moving back to the town where he grew up. That made sense; it summed up the situation nicely.

But he didn’t believe that.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter what he believed because nothing was happening, once again. All signs of a ‘ghost’ had stopped after he’d had the hallucination in the kitchen.

***

It starts again less than a week after he’d first seen the apparition in his house.

Dean wakes up cold, which isn’t a surprise. The old house creaks and moans as he walks down to the kitchen and bangs around in an attempt to start a plate of bacon for himself. He busies himself with starting the pan and he hears a cupboard slam. Dean barely manages to keep the pan on the oven as he whips around and tries to find the source of the disturbance.

Cas stands in the middle of his kitchen, one hand on the handle of the shut cupboard and breathing heavily. He looks almost completely solid, like he was actually there in the room with Dean, but when Dean looks more closely he can see the counter on the other side of Cas’ body.

“I’m losing my mind,” Dean says out loud.

Cas glares at him coldly. “No, you aren’t.” He sighs, shoulders shaking slightly as if he was caught in a stiff breeze. “It takes a lot of energy to talk to you like this, Dean,” he says. “So I’m asking that you listen.”

“Listen to what?” Dean asks. “You aren’t real. You’re in my head.”

If a hallucination could look exasperated, Cas does. “I’m _real_ Dean, what proof do you need? I’ve moved things around; that’s what ghosts typically do, right?”

“Look, Cas. I’m sorry that you’re dead, man; when I knew I was moving here I… I really wanted to talk to you. I know ‘sorry’ doesn’t cut it, okay? I know. I just wanted to talk to you again. And hearing that you died, well… that really threw me for a loop and I get that this is all some sort of… insane coping mechanism.” Dean waves his hands around as he spoke, looking lost and helpless. The more he spoke, the more he didn’t believe his own words.

“Do you really expect me to believe that you gave a fuck hearing about my death? You didn’t care about me when you left, and you sure as hell don’t care about me now.” Cas shakes his head. “This is off track. I don’t have much time.”

“Time for what?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “I thought you didn’t believe I was even real.”

“I don’t. But I figure… if I’m stuck seeing you, I might as well go along with my own mind.” He shrugs. “Just tell me what you mean.”

“I need you to help me pass over, to the ‘other side’ or Heaven or wherever I’m supposed to go,” Cas says without further ado.

Dean feels his face fall blank. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Pass over,” Cas repeats. “I need to be put to rest.”

“And how am I supposed to do that, exactly?”

Cas shrugs. “I don’t know; I’ve never been a ghost before, have I? I don’t know that there’s protocol for this, outside of movies.”

“Maybe I can…” Dean waves his hands in a vague gesture, not entirely sure himself what he means to imply. “Well, maybe I can… contact someone? Psychics or something, I don’t know. Ask if they’ve ever dealt with a real ghost?”

“Most psychics are fakes; the people who’ve lived here before you tried hiring them and they never really knew I was there. They just burnt some sage and walked around the house, then told the couples that the ‘negative presence’ had been banished. But there was one woman…” he trails off, trying to remember. “She was blind. I never heard her name, but she could sense me. I could _feel_ her knowing I was there. She looked right at me, more than once, and she told the couple that had contracted her that I didn’t want to hurt anyone. Which is true. The couple moved out within a month, but you could try and find her?”

Dean purses his lips. “I doubt there are many psychics here. I guess I’ll just… call them all and see if any of them are blind?”

“It’s a little rude to just _ask_ someone over the phone if they’re blind; it might be better to go visit them and _see_ if any are blind. Then invite them here and I’ll tell you if it’s her.”

Dean sighs. “Fine, I guess.” He runs both his hands through his hair, making it stick up wildly. “I just – how do I know you’re real?”

Cas takes a moment to think about it. “My gravesite. It’s in the same cemetery as your parents, but I’m three rows past them, and seven headstones to the right of your father. You don’t know that, so go and check. If I’m right, then I’m real, and you can get to work looking to put me to rest. Is that sufficient?”

Dean considers it and then nods. “Okay. I’ll go look. If you’re wrong, then… well, I guess I’ll know what’s really happening here.”

“Do that. I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back next.”

And then, as soon as he’d appeared, Cas disappears. Dean turns back to his bacon to find it burned, so he throws it out quietly and goes to get changed, resolving himself to another day of takeout breakfast.

***

After eating a greasy plate of dinner pancakes and bacon, Dean drives to the cemetery and finds his way to his parents’ graves. He gives them a cursory greeting and then moves on, picking his way through the graves and then, when he’s gone past two rows, turning to walk down the line, counting headstones as he goes. When he reaches the seventh one, he feels his stomach drop.

_Castiel Novak_ , it reads at the top. Then, under that, _August 1979 – December 2011_.

The only other text was a flowery ‘Rest In Peace’ – no ‘in loving memory’ or ‘beloved son’. No mentions of a family, either. Dean feels his chest tighten as he reads his best friend’s tombstone. He’d hoped, through the years, that Cas had met someone and settled down, that someone had come along who was better than Dean was, and who had treated Cas like he deserved to be treated. Apparently, that had never happened.

Dean takes a step forward and places his hand on the top of Cas’ headstone, bowing his head. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs for what felt like the thousandth time. It didn’t make any more difference now than it ever had. “I can’t believe this….” He shakes his head and steps back again. “I’m going to fix this,” he says. “I promise. If it’s the last thing I do… you deserve better than this.”


	9. Halloween, 1998

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait :) Holiday hit me hard

“Where are you going?” Cas asked, looking up over the top of his book to see Dean dressed in a pirate costume near the door of their apartment.

“To Jo’s party. I told you about that yesterday, didn’t I?” He rested his hand on the hilt of his fake sword, glancing back at Cas who was sitting on the couch.

“You told me about it,” Cas confirmed, feeling a coldness seeping into him. He wasn’t entirely surprised at this turnout but he was still disappointed.

Dean looked confused. “Then what’s the problem?”

Cas pressed his lips together in a thin line. “Nothing. Go, enjoy the party. Tell Jo I said ‘hello’.” He looked back down at his book resolutely but he was no longer seeing the words on the page.

“Seriously, Cas,” Dean said exasperatedly. When Cas didn’t answer, Dean turned and opened the front door, intending to leave, but Cas finally got up from the couch.

“You said you’d stay home with me,” he said.

“I don’t remember saying that.”

Cas felt his jaw tighten. “Fine. Whatever. Have fun.” He sat back down on the couch.

Dean ran a hand through his hair, looking lost. “Come with me, then, if you want to hang out with me.”

“You know I don’t do parties.”

“Yeah, but it’s _Jo_. You know lots of people there; it’ll be fun,” Dean said earnestly.

Cas licked his lips. “Fine. I’ll come with you. But I’m not wearing a costume.”

Dean grinned. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

***

The party was already in full swing by the time they arrived, hand in hand.

Jo bounced over to them with a grin. “Hey! You managed to drag Cas out!” she said excitedly, giving Cas a grin that he responded to shyly.

Dean laughed. “Wasn’t easy, but he’s here! Where can we go to get something to drink?”

“The kitchen’s stocked; Ash was mixing drinks, last I was there,” Jo told him, now completely ignoring Cas after the initial greeting had been completed.

“Thanks, Jo; see you later.”

Dean started off towards the kitchen, dragging Cas helplessly behind him. As promised, they found Ash in the kitchen.

“Hey!” he called good-naturedly, giving Dean and Cas a wide grin. “Care to try one of these?” Ash held out a glass of oddly neon green liquid, the sight of which alone caused both of the newcomers to grimace.

“Just beer for us, I think,” Dean said, heading for the fridge.

Ash shrugged. “Whatever. Your loss.” Without further ado, he downed the drink he’d been holding.

Dean looked at Cas and shrugged before popping the tops off two beers and handing him one. “Bottoms up, I guess,” he murmured, taking a big sip out of his own drink.

Cas was more tentative than the other boys, deciding to only sip at his beer. At least, at the beginning of the night.

***

A few hours into the party they were both smashed.

Cas leaned his head against Dean’s shoulder with a grin. “This is fun,” he murmured happily.

Dean grinned big and tried to turn to look at Cas. “See? Told you.” He shifted awkwardly so that they were comfortably face to face and put his hands on Cas’ cheeks. “You’re so beautiful,” he said earnestly.

Cas felt his face flush with more than just the alcohol. “No; you are,” he muttered, tipping forward until their foreheads were resting together. This new vantage point caused him to get distracted by the colours in Dean’s eyes, and then suddenly they were kissing. Cas let his eyes flutter shut as he leaned into the heat of Dean’s mouth.

The kisses were open-mouthed and sloppy as Dean pushed lightly, until Cas was on his back on the loveseat. Music pulsed through the speakers and Cas felt it in his veins as he kept pressing kisses to Dean’s face and mouth before Dean moved to suck a mark onto Cas’ neck.

The world narrowed to Dean’s lips, the heat of breath on Cas’ face, and the thrum of music filling the room. His head felt hazy from the alcohol and he let himself be carried away by the sensations, wishing that that moment would stretch on forever. Because in that moment, it didn’t matter that it was a fight that had lead them there; it didn’t matter that they’d been fighting about little things lately, things that shouldn’t bother either of them. In that moment, they were okay.

***

Cas woke up with a sore neck and a pounding head. The first thing he realized was that he’d been sleeping on top of someone, and when he cracked open his eyes he saw that it was Dean, who was still dead to the world. He laid there silently with Dean’s arm locked around his waist and watched Dean’s sleeping face fondly.

“Hey,” he murmured when Dean’s eyes opened slowly. “Good morning.”

Dean cracked a smile. “’Morning, handsome.” He tried to lean up to kiss Cas, but Cas laughed and pulled away.

“Morning breath. No kissing until we get back to the apartment and brush teeth.”

Dean groaned good-naturedly and let his head drop back to the couch cushion. “Then I’m goin’ back to sleep.”

Cas sighed and pillowed his head on his arms over Dean’s chest. “I’ll just wait here, then.”


	10. October Fourteenth, 2014

The thing about living with a literal ghost was that as soon as he was gone, Dean starts to doubt his existence again. It took three sessions of staring at the phone for half an hour, trying to decide whether or not to call someone to see if he could stay with them for a little while, before he came to the decision that it was best left alone.

And then Cas is back, standing in the living room like he belongs there. And really, Dean thinks, Cas belongs there more than he himself does. The house had belonged to Cas first.

“Hello,” Cas says almost timidly, standing in the far corner of the room and seeming to fold in on himself.

“Okay. You’re real.”

Cas sighs and steps slightly out of the corner. “We established that. I’m real. Now; _why_ am I here?”

Dean shrugs. “How should I know? I haven’t seen you in fifteen years. You must have _tons_ of unfinished business that I don’t know about.”

“I don’t think I do,” Cas mutters, casting his eyes downwards. “I think it’s you.”

“What does that even mean?” Dean presses his hands over his eyes and falls back into the couch with a groan.

“We never had an ending.”

Dean moves his hands and looks over at Cas, who’s looking absolutely anywhere butat the couch. “So can I just apologize and then _poof!_ you’ll go rest in peace, or whatever?”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “Would you mean it? Because I don’t think it means anything if you don’t _actually_ feel sorry.”

“Of course I fucking feel sorry,” Dean says angrily, standing up suddenly and making Cas flinch back. “I was a dick to you; I know that now. At the time it was just stupid, idiotic payback – which you didn’t even deserve – but that was fifteen years ago, Cas. I’m sorry, okay? I’m fucking sorry, and I wish I hadn’t done it, but it happened and now we’re here, and I’m sorry. What more do you want?” His chest heaves as he finishes his outburst, his eyes wild.

“You cheated on me, Dean!” Cas yells, moving so that he was in Dean’s face. “You were my world, and I just needed you to be _there_ for me – I wasn’t even asking much of you! I just wanted you to stand next to me when I needed you, and when I needed you most I found you in bed with _Lisa_! And you know what? I don’t even care anymore. I hope you two had a good time the past fifteen years while I was here, alone.” Cas laughs humourlessly. “I don’t even know what I was thinking, waiting for you to call all these years. You didn’t deserve it.”

Dean opens and closes his mouth as Cas speaks, trying to form words. “That’s – that’s not fair, man. I’m _sorry_. But I was just a dumb kid. I didn’t –”

“You know what?  _Life's_ not fair, Dean! Because sometimes the love of your life cheats on you and then leaves without a word. And just when you start to think maybe, just maybe you could possibly get over him and move on with your _goddamn_ life, you decide to drive home at 4AM and get hit by an eighteen wheeler. Your family and friends are told you died instantly on impact - no pain!” He laughs again, almost manically. “But I was in pain, Dean. For months – _years_ – before I even got in that car. I was _always_ in pain. Because of you, and what you did.”

Dean swallows thickly, feeling a lump in his throat as he does so. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, almost too softly to be heard.

“I know. I know you’re sorry, and I know that you loved me, but it’s not enough.”

“How are we supposed to fix this? If me being sorry isn’t enough,” Dean asks, looking down at his hands because it hurt too much to look into Cas’ eyes – the eyes of his best friend.

“I don’t know.”

Dean glances up but finds Cas looking away. “I can try to look into it – psychics and ghost hunters and stuff. See if anyone knows how to put you to rest, aside from unfinished business.”

“That’s what everyone else has done.”

“But they weren’t me.” Dean grins with faked confidence. “I have a vested interest in this; I have to try and make it up to you somehow, don’t I?”

Cas smiles wryly. “I suppose you do, yes.”

“Then we’ll figure it out. Together.” Dean wishes for an instant, more than anything, that he could reach forward and place his hand comfortingly on Cas’ arm. He even shifts to do so, but remembers at the last second that Cas isn’t actually there. “I missed you,” he murmurs then, because it was the truth and because he needed Cas to know in that moment.

“I know. That doesn’t change anything, because it took me dying for you to say it.”

When Dean looks up, Cas has a small smile on his face. “I’ll fix this; I promise.”

“I know you will.”

“How can you know that? I’ve fucked up everything to do with you for my entire life.”

Cas shrugs. “Maybe because I’m dead and I have to have faith in something, and you’re as good as anything right now. In case you haven’t realized, I don’t have much of a choice.”

Dean took that moment to turn away and take a few steps towards the kitchen. “I wish you did.” He laughs. “I wish you could be here to slap me, because God knows I deserve it. Maybe that would resolve everything.” He glances back over his shoulder to gauge Cas’ reaction and finds the living room empty. “Bye, Cas,” he says to himself, and then he turns back and walks into the kitchen. He found his phone book, stashed in a cupboard, and pulled it out onto the counter next to the telephone. He flipped to ‘p’ – for ‘psychics’.


	11. Halloween, 2000

The front door slammed loudly behind Cas as he entered, a wad of pipe cleaners that had been a halo not fifteen minutes earlier in his hand. The wires cut into his hand but he barely registered the pain, his anger numbing him to anything outside of the current situation.

“Are we gonna talk about this?” he asked angrily, staring at the back of Dean’s head. He squeezed his eyes shut and the scene replayed itself on the backs of his eyelids again and again – Dean leaning in, his lips pressing against another’s mouth….

“What is there to talk about?” Dean retorted, snapping Cas out of his reverie. He pulled off his cowboy hat and kicked off his boots. “The way I see it, you’re overreacting.”

Cas took off his white shoes and went to stand in front of Dean, who was looking anywhere but into Cas’ eyes, his earlier harsh words betrayed by his demure stance under Cas’ angry watch. “Overreacting?” he repeated. “You think I’m _overreacting_?”

Dean glanced up sharply. “Think I just said that, Cas. Let’s leave it, okay? Go to bed.” He tried to take a step past Cas but he was stopped, the pipe cleaner in Cas’ hand biting into his skin through the fabric of his shirt.

“You _kissed_ her, and you think I’m just gonna ‘go to bed’ after that?” He rolled his eyes and made finger quotes with his free hand while the hand that was resting against Dean’s chest curled slightly, the blunt nails scrapping slightly but not painfully. Cas felt queasy, feeling the familiar, worn cotton that he’d spent so many nights curled up against contrasted with the anger that he felt towards the man wearing the shirt.

Dean sighed and let his head fall back slightly, trying to hide that he still didn’t want to look Cas in the eye. “We were playing _Spin the Bottle_ , Cas! You seemed cool with it when you _sat next to me_.”

Cas bit the inside of his cheek and crossed his arms, tucking his hands tightly against his sides to hide that they were shaking. “I didn’t think you’d _actually_ kiss anyone.”

“And that’s not my goddamn fault, okay?” Dean threw up his hands in exasperation, running them through his hair on their way back to his sides. “You know how to play that game; hell, we played it in high school. If you weren’t cool with it, you could have just _told_ me, and I would have walked away.”

“When have you ever listened to me, really?” Cas murmured, licking his lips.

“I _always_ listen to you!” Dean exclaimed, pointing angrily at the centre of Cas’ chest. “ _Always_. I fucking _love_ you, okay?

Cas looked down and bit his lip, shifting awkwardly. “Doesn’t seem like it, sometimes.” His voice was small and quiet as he wished for the floor to open up and take him out of the situation. Cas was tired and wanted nothing more than to have everything be okay again.

With his head down he could only hear when Dean sighed and turned before slamming the front door on his way out. Cas flinched at the bang, which ran through the apartment like a gunshot, starting fires in his mind. It felt like an eternity before he felt solid enough to move from that spot, and he only ended up as far as the sofa, collapsing there in his Halloween costume and falling asleep heavily. He didn’t wake up when Dean came back, but when he woke up around nine in the morning there was a blanket draped over his body and a quiet humming of Led Zeppelin coming from the bathroom, barely audible over the shower spray.

Things weren’t perfect between them, Cas knew. Maybe things never would be, would never even be considered ‘good’, but, in the light of the morning, he was willing to try.


	12. October Sixteenth, 2014

The first person he contacts is named Pamela Barnes and she greets him with a toothy grin that reminds him oddly of a shark. She’s wearing bell-bottom jeans and a too-tight shirt that shows off her midriff, a pair of big sunglasses perched on top of her head. Her eyes stare out at him blankly.

“What can I do for you, handsome?” she asks. He gapes at her like a fish about to be devoured and she laughs. “Never seen a blind psychic before? Oh! Never seen a psychic before, _that’s_ what this is. Well, c’mon in, let’s change that.” She turns around and walks into her house, hips swaying like the pendulum of a clock.

After a moment, Dean follows her in, shutting the door softly behind himself. She leads him to the first room on the left of the front hall, which is done up to look like every psychic’s workplace that he’d ever seen on any TV show or movie.

She sits comfortably in the straight-back wooden chair that has its back to the far wall, seeming to drape herself over it. “Sit,” she says, gesturing to the chair directly across from hers.

He obeys, perching awkwardly and feeling more out of place than before.

“How can I help you today, sugar?” she asks, the shark-like grin returning.

Dean bites his lip. “I have a ghost problem,” he tells her matter of factually, figuring that it’s easier to get it out in the open right off the bat. “See, I moved here just this month. Well, I grew up here, but I moved away – it doesn’t matter,” he waves his hands as if batting away the off-track train of thought. “I moved into an old house, and it’s haunted by my ex. Apparently _he_ moved there after I left, and then died. Which sucks, a lot, but you don’t really care about my personal problems so I’ll shut up now.” Dean doesn’t try to hide the pronouns like he normally does when discussing Cas, figuring that she would find out anyway if she agreed to help him. “Anyway, he needs help crossing over – or whatever. And I dunno what to do.”

She nods slowly as he speaks, seeming to consider all the information he was presenting her with. “Honey, I’m gonna be real honest with you; putting spirits to rest isn’t really my area. I’m more about communing with them, you know? But I think I know someone who can help you out with your particular… _problem_.”

He feels a small smile forming on his face. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

Pamela smiles, closed mouth to hide her teeth. It gives her the illusion of sweetness for just a moment. “Always willing to lend a hand. Ghosts are pesky things, am I right?”

***

Missouri Moseley treats him like she’s known him for years.

“Take a seat, boy,” she says when he walks in, before he can even get a word out. “What can I help you with?”

He opens his mouth but she just interrupts him again.

“Just because I’m a psychic doesn’t mean I know everything, always. Kinda self-important to think I’ve been peekin’ in on _your_ problems, don’t you think?” She sits down in a chair on the other side of the coffee table so Dean takes a seat on the couch against the wall.

“Now,” she says, looking him in the eye. Her gaze makes Dean feel naked, like she can see everything that he’d tried to hide for so long. He supposes that it wouldn’t be too far off to assume that she can. “What can I help you with?”

Dean repeats what he told Pamela, but this time with less stuttering and awkwardness.

When he’s done, Missouri takes a deep breath and purses her lips, giving him a sideways look. “Well,” she says slowly. “That’s a problem.”

“You can say that again,” Dean says with a nervous laugh. “So, will you help me? Well, him more than me, I guess.”

She considers it. “I can come see your house – asses the problem – but I can’t guarantee that there’s anything I can do for you. Sounds like a pretty big thing you’ve got going on.”

They set up a time for her to come over that evening, because she says it’s easier to connect to the energy at night since it’s calmer in the world. Dean doesn’t pretend to understand but agrees to it anyway.

After his meetings with psychics, Dean goes to Harvelle’s Roadhouse. Jo greets him from the bar with a smile and he returns it half-heartedly.

“What’s got you down?” she asks as he sits on one of the bar stools.

“Nothing you should worry about, Jo,” he tells her. “Can you get me a beer?”

She places a bottle in front of him and pops off the top. “Mom’s worried about you,” she tells him frankly.

“And I appreciate that,” he mutters. “Tell her not to; I’m good. Been better, yeah, but I’ll be fine.”

Jo raises an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure about that?”

Dean shrugs. “Is anyone ever sure of anything, really?”

She rolls her eyes. “Just answer me, Winchester.”

“Pretty sure. Just… it’s gonna take a while. Things are weird right now, you know?”

Jo reaches forwards and places a comforting hand on his arm. “I know.”

***

Dean’s been fidgeting on his couch for half an hour by the time Missouri knocks on his door. He runs to the door and has to restrain himself from wrenching it open.

“Hello,” he says.

“Where’s the activity been the worst?” she asks him in lieu of a greeting, already pushing her way past him and into the foyer.

“Apparently, past homeowners thought it was worst in the attic, but I’ve only ever seen and talked to him in the kitchen and living room,” he tells her, moving to the side so she can walk in. He shuts the door behind her.

She walks in front of him through the living room, pausing in the middle right behind the couch. “What did you say his name was?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.

Dean furrows his eyebrows. “Cas – well, Castiel.”

She nods but doesn’t say more. Missouri stands there, completely still, for another moment before moving on to the kitchen.

When Dean enters the kitchen after her, he finds her standing in the middle. “Castiel,” she says, almost to herself. Dean gets the distinct feeling that he’s being watch, the hairs on the back of his neck pricking up. He moves a hand to try and smooth them down.

“Ms. Mosely,” says a new voice. Both Dean and Missouri turn on their heel to see Cas now in the room with them.

“Call me Missouri,” she tells him, voice soft like she almost can’t believe what she’s seeing. “You’re so solid – I’ve never seen an apparition so real.”

Cas shrugs, arms crossed over his chest. “I guess I’m special.”

“Dean here’s hired me to try and send you across the veil. Is that okay with you?”

“I asked him to hire you,” Cas informs her. “I’m tired of being stuck here, with _him_.”

Both Cas and Missouri give Dean hard looks.

“What did you do to this boy, Dean?” she asks him.

He holds up his hands in defense. “It was fifteen years ago!”

She raises an eyebrow. “Obviously it still matters.”

“Not to you. To him, maybe, but it shouldn’t change anything about you helping him.”

Missouri considers that and nods. “Your personal lives aren’t my business,” she mutters, seemingly to herself.

“Do you know how to… put me to rest?” Cas asks, moving the conversation back in the desired direction.

She nods. “I think I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so! There is only one more set of two and then an Epilogue left! I'm planning on posting those three at the same time, so it may be slightly longer until the next update. That being said, I'll probably have lots of free time this coming week, and I'm only a part-time student next semester so I'll definitely have time. I really hope you've all been enjoying this as much as I have; I'll be sad to see this finished!


	13. Halloween, 2002

Cas walked into the apartment and threw his suit jacket onto the armchair. He ran his shaking hands through his hair and let out a breath, wishing he could just crawl into bed and sleep for a week.

Even at his father’s funereal, his mother still badgered him about his choices in education and romantic partner. It wasn’t the fact that Dean was a man that bothered her, she had no problem with that, it was Dean himself that she didn’t like. Cas was used to it; he and Dean had been friends all their lives – if he wasn’t used to it, their friendship would have ended years ago.

He froze when he realized that the apartment wasn’t silent; soft gasps and moans were filtering into the living room through the closed bedroom door. He could hear a woman, first, and then an all too familiar male voice. His stomach dropped. He pushed open the door, as if giving it the time to swing open on its own would change what was on the other side at all. As his eyes fell on the familiar bedroom, the colour drained from his face.

Cas was stuck to his spot, shocked into immobility. The air rushed from his lungs and he was left gasping, hoping that he would wake up in a moment and find himself asleep next to Dean. He shut his eyes tight and when he opened them nothing had changed. He turned and ran away, slamming the front door behind himself.

***

Cas was on the sidewalk by the time Dean caught up with him.

“Wait!” Dean called. “Wait, c’mon, don’t go!”

“Don’t talk to me,” Cas spat over his shoulder. He kept up his brisk pace, not entirely sure of where he was going just that he definitely wanted to be somewhere else – _anywhere_ else.

“I’m sorry!” Dean exclaimed. “I’m so fucking sorry; I fucked up. And if I’ve – if I’ve ruined everything, I understand.”

Cas spun on him to find Dean standing with his shoulders slumped, looking defeated. “Great. You _fucking_ understand. And you know what, Dean? You’ve ruined this. We’re over; I can’t do this anymore. I hope she makes you _fucking_ happy.”

***

Cas’ cellphone rung endlessly and he didn’t answer until he saw Dean’s name on the screen.

“Don’t call me again,” he said into the receiver before hanging up. It didn’t ring again.

The next that Cas heard of Dean was three years later, through Jo Harvelle. Dean had settled down with Lisa, they’d had a child together, and Dean was happy. Cas smiled when Jo told him, said to pass on his congratulations even though he knew that she wouldn’t. He didn’t really want her to, because he didn’t really mean it.

He bought an old house by a park, resigned himself to days of monotony, and told himself that he would move on one day. Cas managed his whole routine around _not_ thinking about Dean, quite pointedly. He showed up to work early and left late, made sure he wasn’t alone for long periods of time to allow for the memories to come back to him, and kept himself busy when he absolutely couldn’t be around others.

His system worked, for the most part. He was starting to move forwards, slowly but surely.

And then he died.


	14. October Twentieth, 2014

It’s on Dean to get everything ready for the ritual of putting Cas to rest, because Cas is incorporeal and Missouri rightfully pointed out that it wasn’t really her problem. Dean found an artful symmetry in it, in the long days of looking for obscure herbs without a full understanding of why he needed thyme and rosemary – it was his fault, so it was his responsibility.

He didn’t have long, because they had to have everything ready for Halloween. Missouri explained something about the thinning of the veil, but Dean didn’t really care about the ‘why’ so he hadn’t listened.

“Are you okay?” Jo asks him one evening, after a long day of searching for some charm Missouri had given him only a picture of, no name attached.

Dean bows his head and runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.”

Jo raises an eyebrow incredulously. “Sure you are. You know you can talk to me, right? I get that neither of us are the most… emotionally open people, but I hate seeing you this upset. I’m worried about you.”

Dean reaches over and rests a hand comfortingly on hers. “Thank you, Jo; really, I mean it. But I’m okay.”

His words don’t seem to make her believe him anymore but she moves her hand out from under his and squeezes his shoulder. “Okay. If you ever aren’t, though, you can talk to me. Got that?”

Dean smiles up at her weakly. “Yeah, I got that.”

“Good.” Jo places a glass in front of him before moving on to help other patrons.

_October twenty-fifth, 2014_

Cas shows up almost every day after the first time Missouri comes to the house. He flicks in and out of existence like a time-lapse camera, seemingly unaware of his moments of non-existence. He’d disappear mid-sentence and then reappear seconds or hours later, continuing exactly where he left off. It was disorienting for Dean, but it wasn’t weirder than the fact that Cas was a ghost. For all that Dean knew, this was normal for ghosts.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says one day.

Dean gives him a confused look. “For what?”

Cas shrugs, seeming to fold in on himself. “Everything,” he says. “Nothing. I don’t know. Being myself, I guess. If I was more what you wanted, none of this would have happened.”

“Stop that,” Dean tells him sharply. “Nothing here is your fault. Nothing. This is _all_ on me. Understand? I shouldn’t have slept with Lisa, I shouldn’t have done half the shit I pulled.”

“I should have just let it go; we could have been happy despite it.”

“No, we really couldn’t have, Cas.” Dean runs a hand through his hair “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. We just weren’t… good, you know? We fought all the time, about petty shit but never the big stuff. We were just better as friends.”

“I fell in love with you when we were fourteen,” Cas tells him, looking at the hardwood floor. “There was never a chance we could have been ‘just friends’ – for me it was all or nothing.”

Dean looks down, too. His face heats up in shame. “I don’t know that I ever loved you,” he admits. “I mean, of course I loved you, you’re my best friend, but I dunno that I was ever _in_ love with you, you know?” Dean glances back up to see a pained smile on Cas’ face.

“Why would you tell me that?” Cas asks. “Why couldn’t you just keep up the lie a little longer? Let me believe you loved me even a little bit before I disappear completely.”

“You don’t deserve to be lied to.”

Cas barks a laugh. “I didn’t deserve a lot of things, Dean.”

Dean starts to apologize again but when he looks up, he’s alone.

_Halloween, 2014_

When Dean wakes up, Cas is sitting by the window of the attic.

“Good morning,” Dean says, voice rough from sleep. “You ready for this?” As he says it, he feels painfully melodramatic, but Cas doesn’t seem to notice.

“I suppose,” the ghost answers. “I’ve been dead for years. About time I acted like it, don’t you think?”

Dean tries to laugh at that but it comes out as just a pained noise. Cas disappears and Dean goes about his regular morning routine of showering and making breakfast.

Cas reappears about three hours later, after Dean gets home from the grocery store because it had occurred to him that he didn’t have any candy for trick-or-treaters if they chose to come around.

“When’s Missouri going to get here?” Cas asks, leaning on the kitchen counter. It almost makes Dean laugh because if Cas really wanted to he could just walk through the counter.

“Late?” Dean says with a shrug. “Nine or ten I guess. We have to wait until midnight but I dunno how long this kind of thing takes to set up, you know?”

Cas nods as if he understands, but since Dean barely knows what he just said he doubts that Cas really does either.

Dean gets out bowls and pours the candy into them before moving a chair beside the front door and leaving the bowl on it for easy access. When he finishes, Cas is gone again. Dean tries not to be disappointed.

Nothing much happens after that. Dean sits in his living room trying to distract himself from what he’s planning to do later and Cas doesn’t show up again. The first trick-or-treaters show up around seven, toddlers in insect costumes holding plastic jack-o-lantern buckets. Dean smiles and gives them each one piece of candy.

Missouri arrives just after the sun sets and walks into the living room like a woman on a mission, which, Dean supposes, she is. She almost looks nervous, but she masks it quickly by giving Dean an irritated look.

“Well,” she prompts, waving at the sofa in the middle of the room. “Get that out of the way and let’s get to work.”

Dean pushes the sofa against the wall, clearing a space in the middle of the room. Missouri drops her large bag onto the couch and pulls out an old book and a pack of white Crayola chalk. She opens it about a quarter of the way through and hands it to Dean to hold up for her as she recreates the symbol on the floor. It takes almost half an hour and Dean feels his arms start to shake with having to hold still for so long, but as soon as she finishes the last line on the circle Cas appears in the center.

“Oh,” he says. “That felt strange.”

Missouri apologizes. “That’s how it works.”

Dean gets out the candles that Missouri had made him buy and starts dropping them where she indicates at various points around, in, and outside of the circle. Cas watches them work silently. Dean tries not to look at him.

Only now that the time has almost come to get rid of Cas forever does Dean being to wonder if this is what he wants. His logical mind says of course it is, because he wants what Cas wants – because it’s the least he can do, after everything. But he can’t help but feel a pit open up in his stomach whenever he thinks about really losing Cas forever.

Missouri finishes up around half past eleven and leaves Dean and Cas alone.

“So I guess this is it,” Dean says, laughing despite himself. “E.T. goes home.”

The corner of Cas’ mouth turns up. “I suppose, yes.”

“I’m sorry that I made your life so shitty.”

Cas smiles but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “I don’t regret it. Being with you was all I wanted. If I’d never met you I might have been happier overall, or at least consistently content, but I just wanted to be with you. You can’t really blame yourself for that.”

“I wish we’d never met, then,” Dean says, scuffing the toe of his boot on the floor. “I just – I wish a lot of things.”

“That won’t bring me back to life. It’s better to move on.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Dean looks up to meet Cas’ eyes. “I came back here because, on the off chance that you were still single, we might be able to give ‘us’ a second chance. That didn’t really go to plan.”

“You wanted to try again?” Cas asks, his head tilting to the side slightly in the familiar confused way that Dean had been fond of so many years earlier.

Dean shrugs. “Yeah. Lisa and I divorced and I thought… well, I remembered you as a good thing in my life, Cas. And I didn’t like the way we left it. I just wanted to try again, or at least apologize.”

“I would have liked that.” A small smile spread over Cas’ face.

Dean returns the smile shyly. “I would have, too.”

Missouri walks in then and clears her throat loudly. “Hate to break this up,” she says, “but we’ve gotta get moving if we want to do this.”

Dean and Cas share one last look before turning to her.

“Alright,” Dean says, and he gets the herbs she’d requested out of the kitchen.

_November first, 2014_

Missouri stayed to help Dean mop up the living room floor, since the wax and chalk that covered it were partially her fault. She helped make the house smell less like incense, too, which Dean appreciated.

She left just after one in the morning, the street outside illuminated only by streetlamps. The distant laughter of teenagers could be heard but there was no one else to be seen on the street.

“Did you mean any of what you told him?” she asks, turning to face him after taking a step out of the door.

He shrugs. “Does it matter?”

She gives him an assessing look. “I suppose not.” Missouri pulls her bag’s shoulder strap farther up her shoulder. “I can’t say it was a complete pleasure meeting you, Dean Winchester, and I hope that we never have to meet again.”

He feels himself smile and he looks down for a moment before smiling at her. “Well, it was certainly a pleasure meeting you,” he says.

She nods and then turns and walks away. Dean shuts the door behind her and stands there, listening for the start of an engine. It comes a minute later and Dean walks up to his bedroom and falls asleep.

***

Dean wakes up around noon to the sound of his phone ringing.

“Hello?” he says without checking the caller ID.

“Hey Dean!” Jo’s overly excited voice filters through the speaker and makes Dean’s ears ring. “A bunch of us are going out for drinks tonight and we were wondering if you wanted to come with?”

Dean knows that she’s lying – likely, she convinced everyone to let her invite him because of her worry about his emotional state – but he appreciates the gesture. “You know, I’m busy, actually. Sorry.”

“With what?”

Dean struggles to come up with an excuse. “Skyping with Ben,” he lies.

“Alright,” Jo says dubiously. “You should get out of the house, though. Tomorrow?”

“I’ll come by the Roadhouse tomorrow. Promise.”

“Okay, good. See you then!”

The line clicks off before Dean has the chance to respond. He locks his phone and falls back into bed.

_November tenth, 2014_

The house is too quiet. It doesn’t even creak at night anymore like Dean had gotten used to. Everything is just silent and still. It feels more haunted than it ever had before.

Jo calls him five times and leaves two voicemails, both asking him to events with friends. He doesn’t return the calls.

_November fifteenth, 2014_

Dean runs into Ash at the liquor store and is told that Jo is worried about him. He leaves Jo a voicemail telling her that he’s fine, honestly, on his way home. She tries to call him back three times and he doesn’t pick up. She leaves one voicemail that’s mostly swearing.

_November twentieth, 2014_

He talks to Ben and Lisa on the phone and it’s decided that Ben will come over for Winter break. Ben informs him that he doesn’t like Lisa’s new boyfriend and Dean listens patiently.

“Listen, I’ve gotta go,” he tells them. “I’ll call you back soon, okay? Love you.”

He hangs up the phone and makes himself dinner in silence.

_November thirtieth, 2014_

Dean examines himself in the mirror and finds himself lacking. He shaves off the stubble that’s grown over the previous month and trims his hair over the sink. Once he’s looking more clean-cut and put-together he heads over to the Roadhouse where Jo practically jumps over the bar to give him a hug.

“It’s good to see you again,” she says in his ear.

“It’s good to see you, too,” he tells her, and he means it.

He wonders for the thousandth time if he also meant what he told Cas and hopes that he did.


	15. Halloween, 1999

The light coming in through the window was soft, filtered into rectangles by the slatted blinds that had come with the apartment.

Cas was up first and propped himself up on one elbow to watch Dean sleep. Dean’s eyes fluttered open after a few minutes and he smiled. “Stop lookin’ at me like that,” he murmured. “It’s creepy.”

“You’re beautiful,” Cas tells him, reaching forwards to trace one finger along the side of Dean’s face.

Dean blushes and pushes Cas’ hand away. “Stop it,” he protests weakly.

Cas just smiles and brings his hand back, laying it gently against the side of Dean’s face.

“I love you,” Cas murmurs, a blush rising to his face. He struggles against the instinct to hide and keeps looking Dean in the eye.

Dean leans up and kisses him, slow and warm. The entire world melts away until all that Cas is left with is the warmth of their bedroom in the morning. _This is it_ , he thinks. _This is eternity. This is the memory that I want to keep with me forever_.

“I will love you forever,” Dean whispers into the space between them. Cas feels his breath catch as he leans his forehead against Dean’s, fingers grasping at the hair around the nape of Dean’s neck.

“No matter what?” he asks, eyes still closed from the kiss.

Dean reaches up to run his index finger along Cas’ jaw before drawing him in for another kiss. “No matter what.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end! I hope you guys liked reading it half as much as I liked writing it :) I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments!  
> And here is a fanmix for the fic: http://8tracks.com/quietlittlevoices/leave-the-lights-on-keep-talking


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